


Shall We Dance?

by ladydragon76



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cyclonus - Freeform, M/M, NC-17, Spoilers, Sticky, Tailgate - Freeform, idw - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Tailgate <i>finally</i> convinced Cyclonus to dance with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall We Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Cyclonus/Tailgate  
>  **Warnings:** Spoilers for MTMTE #42, Sticky  
>  **Notes:** Gift ficcy commissioned for Snee from anonymous!  <3 Yes, Tailgate has a mouth for this. I like mouths, and my client said mouths were good things too. Just a headsup so no one’s thrown later on in the fic. ^_^

Cyclonus sighed. “Alright then, Tailgate, _one_ dance…” He looked down to where Tailgate _had_ been, then up to search the crowd. “Tailgate…?”

There. The minibot was _on_ the crowd, many mechs’ up-lifted hands bouncing him along. Cyclonus cycled his vents in another sigh, then steeled himself before plunging into the thick of gyrating, bouncing, grinding bodies. Dancing, they called this. Primus deliver him.

“Cyclonus!” Tailgate shouted, his voice barely audible over the blare of music and the shouts of the crowd. His hands reached and waved as he bounced along overhead.

Cyclonus stepped forward, gave a fast twirl to the side to avoid getting punched in the face by Nautica, then spotted Trouble with a capital ‘T’. He had to give credit to this style of dance for one thing: he was able to give Getaway a neat, solid hipcheck as the mech tried to get to Tailgate first without anyone thinking anything of it. Cyclonus caught Tailgate’s hands as Getaway stumbled to the left and into a pack of laughing mechs. With a deft shift back and quick twist to the side, Getaway was now three mechs away and caught up by the group he’d fallen into.

Tailgate beamed happily up at Cyclonus from the floor, visor bright. “Thanks! That was fun, but I wanted to dance with you.” He immediately began to bounce at the knees to the beat, arms going up to do that odd punching at the air so many did. “Dance!”

With a heavy sigh, Cyclonus caved to the joyful demand. He had watched the others enough to be able to imitate the style, though he was not going to flail about as much as Rodimus. Of course, very few were. For a few songs, Cyclonus ignored the creeping sense of embarrassment and bopped along with Tailgate. It really was enjoyable to watch the smaller mech having such obvious fun, but the press of the crowd began to wear on him, and soon enough Cyclonus was barely rocking side to side with the rhythm of the song.

Tailgate stopped mid-step and looked up at Cyclonus with his helm tilted to the side. Wordlessly, he grasped a silver hand, then tugged. Cyclonus allowed himself to be led along a weaving path through the crowd, then out of Swerve’s.

“Tailgate?”

“That wasn’t much fun for you, was it?” Tailgate asked, and Cyclonus figured he’d be tapping his two index fingers together in front of his chin if one hand wasn’t already occupied towing him down the corridor.

“Not especially,” Cyclonus said and felt Tailgate’s field flatten. “I enjoyed watching you dance, but that is… very different from how dancing was done when I was younger.” A curious look, and before he could stop the words from escaping his vocalizer, Cyclonus said, “I could show you?”

Visor and field flaring in something Cyclonus could only label rampant joy, Tailgate stopped right in the middle of the hall and stared up at him. “Oh! Would you, Cyclonus? Would you? That’d be so… I mean…!” He wiggled in place, and Cyclonus chuckled as he pulled them back into motion.

“Yes.”

Tailgate squealed and hurried forward, all but running. Once they were in their quarters, Cyclonus left the smaller mech to hop and bounce in his excitement while he crossed to the small music player he used for their singing lessons.

“I will show you the dance first, then teach you the steps.” Cyclonus started the music, then gestured at Tailgate to sit on one the berths. “Just watch.” The minibot nodded, visor bright and glued to Cyclonus, who stood for a moment to let the melody work through his circuits.

When he moved, it was with a fluid grace, no jerking, bouncing, gyrations. Step back, sweep the other foot out. Shift. Step forward. Turn. Cyclonus’ arms came up of their own volition, framed for a dance partner, and he let his optics drift shut as he moved. When the last notes faded out, Cyclonus took a step back and bowed. He opened his optics to see Tailgate with his hands clasped tightly under his chin and his visor bright despite the deeper shade of blue.

“Wow.”

Cyclonus smiled. “Come. That is one of the easier dances with only thirteen unique steps.”

Tailgate picked up said unique steps with an ease and grace that managed to surprise Cyclonus. “Good,” he said and felt the smaller mech’s field flush with pride. “Very good. Once more, then we will try together with the music.”

“Ok!” Tailgate stood across from Cyclonus, practically vibrating.

“Optics up. You do not need to watch my feet. Or your own.”

“Right.”

Cyclonus found himself smiling again as he shifted his weight for the first step. Tailgate did so as well, and they circled one another through two cycles of the dance before stopping with a bow.

Tailgate giggled. “I like it!”

“As do I.”

“Music?” In answer, Cyclonus crossed the room to the music player, but Tailgate continued before he was able to restart the earlier song. “So, is the dance done just like that? At a distance?”

“No. Traditionally there was the width of two hands between the dancers’ chests,” Cyclonus replied. “However, young and cheeky mechs would often press closer.”

“How naughty,” Tailgate said with a snicker.

“It was.” Cyclonus reset the song and returned to stand in front of Tailgate. It was when he held out his hands to begin that he realized that their height difference just might be too vast for them to dance properly.

“We could be all naughty and risqué, and you could pick me up?” Tailgate suggested.

“That would be one solution.” Cyclonus pinned the smaller mech with a stern look. “Only because we are alone in here. If we ever dance in public, it will have to suffice that we don’t touch.” He doubted anyone would know the old dances well enough to call them on it anyway, and he really had no plans to dance in public to begin with. However, Tailgate could be persistent, so the possibility couldn’t be completely ruled out. Better to lay down conditions now, than face cajoling later with mechs staring at them.

“Deal!” Tailgate stepped closer and reached up, hands opening and closing as he gave an impatient bounce.

“You realize this completely negates the need for you to have learned those steps?” Cyclonus asked as he lifted the smaller mech.

Tailgate should his helm. “Nah. I like learning stuff, and it’s a very pretty dance.” He settled his legs around Cyclonus’ middle, wound his arms around the warrior’s neck, and -with a teasing flicker of his energy field- pushed their chests together. “This isn’t bad at all though.”

Choosing to ignore the blatant flirting, Cyclonus walked back over to the music player to restart the song one more time. He braced one arm under Tailgate’s bottom to help hold him up, then wound the other around his back. “Ready?”

“More than.” Tailgate sounded a bit breathless, but Cyclonus chose to ignore that too, and began to dance. They swayed and turned, and somewhere near the middle of the song, Cyclonus found himself smirking as he angled forward just the slightest bit as he swept through a spin. It pressed his chest tighter to Tailgate’s, and a zing of sensation shot right through his spark.

Tailgate gasped, and his arms and legs tightened. There was a soft click and the sound of small gears whirring, then a hot mouth pressed to Cyclonus’ neck. The moan rose up unbidden, and Cyclonus’ hold tightened too.

“That is not part of the dance.”

Tailgate nibbled, then licked the main energon line with a low purr of sound. “My mistake. What about this?” He tipped his head back and sucked at the cabling just under Cyclonus’ chin.

“Definitely not,” the warrior rasped.

“Good thing we’re not dancing anymore then, huh?”

They weren’t, Cyclonus discovered. He didn’t remember when he’d stopped moving, but even now his helm was tipped back to allow Tailgate access to the sensitive lines of his neck while he simply stood there in the middle of their quarters with his vents running fast and spark pounding in its crystal.

Tailgate’s hands moved up the back of Cyclonus’ neck, then they cupped the back of his helm. “Bet I know something else that isn’t dancing either.” He pulled, and Cyclonus groaned as he tipped his face forward. He let his optics shut, already knowing full well what was going to happen. What was surprising was how unwilling he was to stop it.

The world felt hazy and trance-like until their lips met, then lightning shot down Cyclonus’ back. His optics flared online, met the deep blue of Tailgate’s visor, then he pulled back with a smirk. “That depends entirely on one’s euphemisms.” Perhaps they had danced around one another long enough? “There’s another sort of dance I could show you, if you wanted me to?”

A full bodied shiver vibrated Tailgate against Cyclonus’, and his visor went an even darker blue. “Frag yes!” he gasped, then pulled Cyclonus into another hard kiss.

A few steps and they were at a berth, though Cyclonus stood there with one knee on it and growled softly as Tailgate sucked on his lower lip. Another zing of pleasure pulsed through his spark. He could feel just how much warmer Tailgate was, particularly at the junction of his thighs. He could feel how much warmer _he_ was too, and each little lick and kiss from Tailgate heated him more.

“Are you certain?” Cyclonus asked, fighting down a shiver.

“Yes! Please, Cyclonus?” Tailgate arched a bit and rocked his hips in unmistakable encouragement.

“We go slow,” Cyclonus said, then laid them both on the berth. Tailgate arched again, arms and legs clinging tight. “Slow, so I don’t hurt you, Tailgate.”

“I know. Just want you.” Tailgate whimpered, but he did ease his grip enough to allow Cyclonus to lift up a little. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

There were any number of poetic, romantic things Cyclonus knew of that he could say, but none of them seemed sincere enough. He settled on bracing himself up on one elbow and watching his free hand caress down Tailgate’s body. He stroked down a white thigh, then back up before lightly tapping the array cover. “Open.” Not romantic or poetic, but he had always been better with actions than words. As Tailgate’s cover snapped open -almost before the word was out- he figured the smaller mech didn’t mind the lack of romance.

Lubricant was a shining smear across Tailgate’s array, and almost as quickly as the panel retracted, his spike pushed out too.

Yes, Cyclonus thought, he really always had been better with actions than words. He lifted his gaze to Tailgate’s, then slid himself lower. Tailgate keened before Cyclonus’ tongue even swept up the length of his spike for the first time. Both hands clamped onto the horns on Cyclonus’ helm with the second slow lick from base to tip, and by the end of the third, white and blue plating rang from Tailgate’s trembling. There were words too, but Cyclonus could only pick out every fourth or fifth one between the shuddering moans spilling from Tailgate’s vocalizer as he took the full length of the spike into his mouth and sucked.

Tailgate’s cries grew even sharper as Cyclonus carefully toyed with the rim of his valve, then pushed a single finger in. The soft, delicate mesh parted around the intrusion, then the calipers clenched tight. All sound stopped as Tailgate arched right up off the berth. The thick, almost sweet taste of transfluid spurted over Cyclonus’ tongue as Tailgate dropped back to the berth with a breathy moan.

“Primus…”

Cyclonus pulled off his spike with a last lick over the tip, then kissed blue pelvic armor. “Pleasant?” he rumbled.

“I want more,” Tailgate panted. “Please, Cyclonus!” His hips lifted and rocked, working himself over the finger still buried in his valve.

Cyclonus hummed softly as he withdrew his finger, only to push it back in with a second. Tailgate shuddered under him again, valve lining squeezing and releasing with an arrhythmic flutter. The warrior thrust in slow, then drew back with a twist to his wrist, fingers stroking over sensor nodes that sparked charge already.

“Cyclonus!”

“Overload if you must,” Cyclonus said, then dared add a third finger.

Tailgate shook his helm. One hand clawed at the berth, the other clenching and releasing to the same pace of Cyclonus’ dragging thrusts. “Want you in me.”

“I will be,” Cyclonus murmured, then purred against Tailgate’s midriff. The tight grip on his fingers made it difficult to move them, and despite so much of his concentration being on the smaller mech, his own body reminded him with a hard jag of lust just how aroused he was too. His spike pressed hard against the inside of his panel, and it took the barest amount of effort to imagine how such a tight little valve would feel around him.

“Now! Please, now!” Tailgate begged, and Cyclonus growled as his panel unlocked with a rush of need.

There was no relief in the ache as his spike extended. With a light shake of his helm to dislodge Tailgate’s hand, Cyclonus pulled his fingers free, then shifted up over the smaller mech. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

“Won’t hurt.”

“Tailgate.”

“Fine!” Tailgate cried as his hands reached to clutch at Cyclonus’ hips and tug. “I’ll say. Just… _Please_!”

Cyclonus pinned Tailgate to the berth with a hand on his hip, then nudged the tip of his spike against the slick rim of the valve. Tailgate squirmed and moaned, his fingers scratching at Cyclonus’ sides as he eased his spike in. Wet, hot, plush lining spread, then cinched in tight against him, and Cyclonus moaned. Then Tailgate went utterly limp under him, and he slipped deeper.

“Oh Primus, that’s so perfect. So perfect, oh~” Tailgate babbled. He trembled and shivered, but remained loose-limbed and soft against the berth.

Cyclonus shivered as well, his sensornet alight as the bliss soaked in. He pressed deep, then drew back before plunging in a little harder. Tailgate moaned with each thrust, and soon his hands were back, fingers gently scratching at Cyclonus’ waist.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” It was a litany, almost sung.

Cyclonus watched Tailgate, fascinated and fighting the rise of charge as the smaller body undulated, rose and fell, arched and shook under him. He felt the press of Tailgate’s feet against the backs of his thighs, urging him on even as the pace increased. That hazy, soft, trance-like veil was back, blanketing them both, and Cyclonus surrendered to it. Pleasure tingled all through his body, swelling as they moved together.

Overload took him by surprise, the rapture consuming all thought and stealing away his vision. It surged in hard waves and pulled a low, hungry moan from deep in his chest. Tailgate’s higher cries rang like music, melody over a rumble of bass.

Cyclonus curled down over Tailgate, pressing their helms close as he sighed and felt all the tension drain from his body.

“We should really dance together more often,” Tailgate said, a sly lilt to his tone.

Cyclonus huffed a sound that was about as close to laughing as he usually came and carefully withdrew to lay beside the smaller mech. “I suppose that could be arranged,” he said and traced a talon down the center of Tailgate’s chest plating. “I prefer these private dances over public gyration.”

Tailgate shifted up to steal a kiss before flopping back down to the berth. “Yeah. I’m good with that.”


End file.
